


Itching and Scratching

by dancergrl1



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Anne is a saint, Anxiety, F/M, Gen, Phillip has SPD, Sensory Processing Disorder, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancergrl1/pseuds/dancergrl1
Summary: Phillip has always had sensory issues. Shoes are too tight, too heavy, coats are too thick, socks are too scratchy, and a multitude of different issues have always plagued him. But why?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, Like i said, new story with vignettes about how this affects phillip. It's very personal to me, as I struggle with sensory processing as well, especially in clothes and shoes. So there will be a lot of focus on those.

Phillip pulled on his pants, desperately trying to ignore the crawling sensation making itself known. 

"Phillip, we need to go!" Anne exclaimed. 

"I'm trying," he muttered, frustrated. 

Anne's head appeared around the doorway. "Phillip?" Her voice was softer now.

"I'm sorry, they're all too itchy, but it's cold and none of my shirts fit right." His voice rose with his anxiety.

Anne swallowed a sigh. "Alright." She looked around, and found one pair of pants far into the back of the wardrobe. 

"Try these," she said softly.

He watched as she walked towards him, wary that these weren't going to feel 'right' either. He leaned into her shoulder, taking a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Anne. I know it's hard." 

"Phillip, it's alright. Try these. They were your favorite." 

They slid on easily, and Phillip stood stock still for a moment. The lack of a crawling, itching sensation was incredible, and it felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." 

Anne handed him a coordinated tie and coat, and the evening continued without incident.   
\---  
At least, that's what Anne thought. As the night wore on, she noticed Phillip beginning to fidget; anxiously sucking on his lip, twisting his watch, and then stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

Then began the scratching. At first, it was his forearms. Then his upper arms. He excused himself, and Anne followed. She found him slumped next to a wall, in a corner far from where they'd been. 

"Phillip?"

"Anne...I'm sorry. Something...something's not...right." 

Anne had heard it before. 

"Not right how?" Her voice was soft, calming. As it always was. 

"I...I don't know." 

Anne considered him for a moment. She held out her hand. "Let's go home. We've done out fair share of glad-handing." 

The visible relief on his face told her that it was the right decision. 

"Really?" His tone was more in line with a hopeful child. 

It broke Anne's heart. "Yes. C'mon, let's go sweetheart." 

He took her outstretched hand, and raised himself off the floor. Finding a back door, they let themselves into the cool night air. 

Anne began digging pins out of her hair as Phillip divested himself from his coat. 

"Are you alright, Phillip?" Anne broached the subject carefully. Rarely was Phillip receptive to discussion about it. 

"Yes, I'm fine now, just needed the fresh air." Phillip shot her a tight smile, and returned his gaze to his feet. 

Anne didn't press.  
\---  
When they returned home, Phillip busied himself preparing for bed. 

Anne opened the blankets to him, but he remained seated on the edge. 

"Phillip?"

He didn't acknowledge her, but began talking. "I'm sorry I ruined our evening, I just needed a moment. I've always been this way, and I couldn't leav eit behind. I'm sorry Anne, truly." 

Anne just ran a warm hand down his back. "It's alright. Sleep now, and we can problem-solve in the morning." 

"Goodnight." He arranged himself, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Anne followed shortly after.


	2. Picky...or aversion?

It wasn’t that Phillip was being picky. Disowned theatre producers turned ringmasters couldn’t be choosy. He just couldn’t get over stomaching something so prickly, like broccoli. 

So when it showed up on his plate for the third night, nicely coated in spiced, he could barely hold back the gag. Anne saw him swallow it, and, as was well within her rights, she lost it. 

“I cooked it and butter and garlic and thyme, please, just try it!” Her exclamation was met with guilt and a desperate attempt to swallow it. Almost immediately, his gag reflex kicked in and he spit it into a napkin. 

“Phillip!” Anne’s voice echoed off the walls. 

He sprinted out of the little room, leaving his coat and hat and everything else behind. He ran like his life depended on it, and found himself on the opposite side of the fairgrounds, right near a tree. He shimmied up the tree like a squirrel, and hid in the branches, already beginning to shed their leaves. He wiped the lone tear that fell. He couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t help that he couldn’t eat certain foods. 

He couldn’t help he couldn’t wear certain clothes. 

He couldn’t help that sometimes he couldn’t handle the crowd and the lights and the noise. 

He couldn’t help it. 

A flash of red passed below the tree. A gaudy red that only belonged to one man. (And his daughters, if he was being honest.) He knew what to expect next before he heard it. “Phillip! Phillip?” 

He heard the footsteps walk away, and breathed a sigh of relief. 

The next thing he knew, he heard the leaves rustling near him, and who else but Charity Barnum was sitting next to him. 

“I’d ask how you found me, but i’m pretty sure of the answer.”

They shared a look, and said together, “Nobody looks up when they’re looking for you.” They shared a sad smile. 

“So why are you up a tree?” 

Phillip deflected. “Better up a tree than up a creek?” 

Charity was not impressed with his attempt at humor. “Phillip.” Her tone held a note of warning to it. 

“Broccoli.” 

“You have my attention.” Charity couldn’t wait to hear this. 

“It’s prickly and scratchy and weird feeling. I can’t eat it. And poor Anne has to put up with it constantly, and I know beggars can’t be choosers but I can’t help this...aversion.” Phillip spit it out in one long breath. 

Charity took a moment to process what he’d said. Then she went out on a limb, no pun intended. 

“Does she love you?” 

Phillip was affronted by the question. “I’m fairly sure of that, thank you.” 

Charity’s voice was stern. “Calm down, Phillip.” 

Phillip closed his eyes and took a breath. 

“Are you ready to listen?” 

Phillip nodded. 

“If she loves you, she will help you. But you have to tell her. She can’t know if you don’t tell her.” 

Phillip nodded again, followed by a shaky exhale. “You’re right. She deserves to know.”   
\---  
Phillip stayed in the tree long after Charity had made her way down. He didn’t even know where to begin the discussion. And if he was up a tree, he didn’t need to. 

Unfortunately, he was in love with an aerialist. Heights didn’t scare her. And neither did climbing up a tree. 

Which is how Philip found himself facing a subdued Anne.

Up a pine tree.

“Phillip, what happened?” 

Phillip explained to her his history of food aversions, and the matter of trying so hard to eat them and simply not being able to.   
She embraced him, and scolded him at the same time. “Phillip, all you had to do was tell me. That’s something we can work around. Just tell me!” 

He promised.


	3. Snacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip hates nuts. Peanuts, walnuts, even crunchy peanut butter. 
> 
> Until Anne finds him sneaking HER favorites!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i discovered I like peanut M&Ms, and my mom (and I) have no clue when i started liking them. One day at school i was like "those sound good" so i got them and started eating them. Now my mom gets annoyed i snipe them from the halloween (and thanksgiving, and easter, and christmas) sale candy every year. 
> 
> So here's anne as a woman scorned. Enjoy!

Phillip’s love for chocolate was the running joke in the circus. He always had some nearby, no matter the time of day. 

The other, far more private joke was his innate distaste for any and all nuts. Roasted, raw, freshly cracked, salted...he hated them all. A late-night discussion between Anne and Phillip had made her stop laughing. It was also becoming a common theme. 

So walking in on him lifting a chocolate covered peanut camdy to his mouth was a shock, to say the least.   
\---  
“PHILLIP!” Anne exclaimed. Her voice bounced off the walls. 

He had enough sense to drop the candy, and look vaguely sheepish. 

“You said you didn’t like nuts!” she yelled, still furious. Those were her personal guilty pleasure. Until now, she had been secure in the knowledge she didn’t have competition for consumption. 

“I don’t, that was the truth!” Phillip plead his case hopelessly. 

“Then explain THIS!” 

“I...found...i rather enjoy them?” he stated, unsure. Hall had no fury like his love without chocolate. He should know. 

“Then get your own!”

With that, she stormed off. 

Phillip, only feeling slight guilt, slipped another into his mouth on the way out the door.   
\---  
Anne arrived, much calmer, in time for dinner. 

The couple ate quietly, exchanging meaningless smalltalk. 

Phillip offered to clean up after, and Anne let him. She wasn’t going to pass up a little guilt-trip cleaning. She heard something crinkle as she laid against the pillows. She reached behind and found a new bag of candies. 

“For us.” the note read. 

She shook her head fondly.

What a softie.


End file.
